A heavy box of vinyl and crumpled letters thrown
carelessly, leavetaking on the floor.
Nothing remains but passion and craving words
everlasting, filling the atmosphere with
a thirst for human touch,
echoing in the air the need for
love.
The light fades.
The jilted lovers hold their breath.
Old stories tattooed inside their bodies are revealed.
« The sun disappears gently » she says to me
while we incline to melancholy.

Justine Duhayon